


No Myth

by rispacooper



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fantasy, First Time, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very much an AU, in which, well, Nick is understandably clueless and Greg isn’t exactly who he says he is. Supernatural themes, I guess you’d call them. Set somewhere in the beginning of Season Five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Myth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beelikej](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=beelikej).



> You know, going through my old fic and finding all this crack...it's an experience. This might be the weirdest thing I have ever done, and I’ve turned Benton Fraser into a werewolf…twice.

_“Open your eyes.”_

No matter what he did, the dreams always ended the same; Greg’s voice urging him to wake up when waking up was the last thing Nick wanted.

He twisted away from the desperation that was slowly turning Greg’s voice rough, trying not to obey because he wanted to stay, to kiss Greg even if it wasn’t real. It felt like he’d always wanted to kiss Greg, to bring those smiles back to Greg’s face, and as long as he stayed here, he could do that.

He still wasn’t sure when that had happened, when the occasional sex dream about the lab tech had turned into something Nick waited for through the hours of each shift, something that pressed at the back of his mind while he tried to watch whatever game was on or sat having a beer with the gang after work. Sometime after Greg had decided to leave the lab, somewhere after he’d gone from being a weirdo lab tech to a weirdo friend, and the countless sweaty, burning dreams of Greg had started to seem wrong. Not that knowing that had stopped them. If anything, they had only burned hotter, grown even more intimate now that he knew what kind of noises Greg made when he was excited, how it felt to have the back of his hand accidentally brush Greg’s hair. If anything, knowing Greg outside his dreams had only made them better…which was so much worse.

Greg was supposed to be his friend. One of his best friends. Maybe that had seemed improbable at first, that club-hopping, _bed_ -hopping, crazy, kinky Greg would want to be his friend at all. But he had taunted Nick, lingered in his presence and his mind until he was possibly the brightest thing in Nick’s life, in his dreams—which were really all Nick had to call a life these days.

“Nick.” Greg’s voice used to be soft in the beginning, sad even when his mouth would still be wet from kisses, from Nick’s cock. Greg had teased him, coaxed him gently, cajoled for him to just open his eyes. Now it was hoarse, pleading until Nick shifted, responding to Greg’s need and ignoring his own, the way he always did in the end. “Open your eyes.” Greg breathed hard as though he was fighting just to speak, the air moving fast above Nick, fluttering against his face. “Please,” Greg begged against his mouth until Nick had to turn back, had to answer. He blinked, then let out a sigh.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to find himself staring at his bedroom ceiling again.

The space around him was empty. The mattress cold. But Nick had a lot of practice at turning onto his side, rolling his face into the softness of his down pillows and breathing in deep.

He reached down, pushing aside blankets to stroke himself once or twice until he came in his hand. He only closed his eyes again after wiping the mess onto a tissue and tossing it to the floor.

He could almost feel Greg that way, an invisible presence in his room. It should have bothered him, after everything. He should have felt ill, as violated as he had to learn about Crane. He shouldn’t want someone to be watching over him, and he knew his imaginary lover couldn’t really protect him from any other ghosts.

But his body was still flushed, his heart still pounding, and as long as he kept his eyes closed, Greg would stay.

___________

 

The days after the dreams were always the same too; his body heavy with exhaustion as though he _had_ spent the night making love to Greg, his face too warm, his arms too empty. And as always, trying to avoid Greg, or snapping at him to send him away, and, as always he’d feel bad the moment he did it, since none of this was Greg’s fault. So he would sigh and relent at even the smallest _hint_ of hurt in Greg’s expression, and Greg would come right back. Right back into his space, getting Nick to smile within minutes, and then smirking, as though he _knew_ what Nick had been thinking, as though it was their special secret, as though it had really happened.

Except Nick _hadn’t_ made love to Greg, he knows that all too well. Greg had gone from playing Las Vegas’ considerable field to devoting himself almost full time to work. He still partied, sure, Nick had heard stories about the work parties at Greg’s apartment, not that he’d ever gone to one. He was pretty sure from the way that Greg tossed out the casual invitations over his shoulder all the time that Greg never really expected Nick to go, and that Nick probably wouldn’t enjoy himself there anyway. Spending hours watching Greg chase after the newest interns and techs wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

A few years ago, Greg _had_ settled enough to chase just one person—Sara—something so startling that Nick hadn’t been the only one to sit up and take notice. Whatever had happened—or hadn’t—between them, Greg had seemed to switch to being her best friend without too much moping or lasting heartache, and then for whatever reason, seemed to have given up most of his clubbing ways. Instead, he had listened to Grissom, joked with Catherine and Warrick, and seemed to have decided that Nick was his personal property to follow around, harass, and otherwise mess with as he pleased.

Oh, he had listened seriously enough whenever Nick had offered advice about work, whenever Nick had warned him to back off, nodding in complete agreement when Nick’s voice would get low with a different kind of desperation, rough just from the scent of whatever ridiculous crap that Greg put in his hair that tickled his nose when Greg had leaned in next to him.

Then Greg would go right back to being annoyingly brilliant, glowing warm like the light from an oil lamp just at the edge of Nick’s vision, offering up smart ass remarks that Nick knew the others would have called flirting.

Maybe it had been, but he wasn’t about to think he was special in Greg’s eyes. Greg just liked to be right, to throw his skills in Nick’s face, to show Nick how quickly he learned. Although when Greg did screw up, it tended to be a large scale, the fact that more often than not Greg had happened to be right—and they both knew it—only added to the attitude in the cocky grins Greg had used to offer him.

But not lately. The laughing lab rat that had visited Nick’s dreams in the beginning had mostly vanished in the past few months, defeated by something that he wouldn’t share no matter how gently Nick had pushed for his confidence. However upset he had been over Sara, it was nothing to how he acted now, when his crazy hair seemed the happiest thing about him.

He should never have left the lab, Nick had decided, after weeks of Greg’s laughter growing more and more infrequent, as he had watched Greg stare through glass at a broken-hearted burn victim.

He had watched over Greg for what had felt like hours, but Greg had only looked up at him when Nick had offered him a ride home. His eyes had been huge as he had wondered out loud how they could bear it, and he’d looked too confused for Nick ask him his meaning. He had pressed himself against the door of Nick’s truck, silent all the way back, and Nick had ended up drunk with him, passed out on Greg’s couch with Greg’s hair tickling his nose and Greg’s hand on his chest.

He hadn’t dreamed that night, and after a full night’s sleep, had snuck out the next morning, not wanting to wake Greg.

In the lab Greg had been safe from things like that, smarter than everyone but Grissom and maybe Rick. Safe from those kinds of realities, from lives gone bad, and the knowledge that there weren’t always happy endings. With Greg protected, Nick hadn’t even minded the attitude, not wanting to ever imagine what it would take to make it disappear.

Now he knew, because Greg had come down to earth with the rest of them, and his smiles had become as rare and precious as gold.

So Nick had stopped protesting too much at Greg’s teasing, and with every joke Greg had moved closer, until Nick felt Greg beside him even when he was alone, in his mind, everywhere but actually with him.

Which was probably why Grissom, who liked to watch bugs squirm in his spare time, had made sure that their shifts overlapped lately, and paired them up when their cases happened to run together.

Greg could stand next to him as he was now, and even with Nick’s skin hot at his nearness, his nose and mouth full of the perfumed scent of hair product that clung to Greg wherever he was, Greg seemed far away.

“Hello? Nick? What do you see?” The amusement in Greg’s voice was nothing to the expectation in his eyes when Nick finally blinked and focused on him.

He saw Greg; it was ridiculous to say anything else. He saw Greg, waiting for him.

Waiting for him to do his job, to stop daydreaming and get with the program. Nick reminded himself and cleared his throat.

“Right, well I’ll take the outside. You try to figure out exactly what went on in here.” Nick turned away and waved at the mess of diamonds, chocolates, caviar, and—of all things—cotton candy that littered their secondary crime scene.

“It looks like she still loved him but couldn’t forgive him, and since he still loved her too, he couldn’t accept that, so he tried to win her back with her favorite things. It’s kind of lame that he had to steal them first…” Greg responded immediately, drawing Nick’s eyes back to him. Despite the need to get away, to stay, he cocked an eyebrow. The small action brought a smile so wide to Greg’s face that Nick could feel himself instantly grinning back.

“Why don’t you worry about proving that theory with some actual evidence, Greggo? Since that _is_ what we do around here.”

If anything, Greg just seemed more amused by Nick’s slight dig. For a second, Nick would swear that he’d winked at him. He could have—the old Greg would have. Had, in fact, on many occasions.

“Worry? Yeah right. In case you’ve forgotten, Nick—and you _do_ seem to have forgotten just how awesome I am,” Greg paused to stare at him significantly, then gave an exaggerated sigh and continued when Nick just scratched his nose, “I am _something_ of an expert on chemistry.” Greg’s tone made it clear that he didn’t even consider that bragging, and Nick couldn’t stop a little shiver from running down his back. He fought to breathe, to keep it light, continue looking into Greg’s eyes.

“Should I even ask if that’s personal experience talking there, Casanova?” He joked, and then sucked in a breath when Greg seemed to shine for him, the whole room blazing with sudden, intense heat as Greg moved closer, into his space, into him.

“You’re getting closer, Nicky,” Greg whispered, and the hope in his voice tore through Nick, made him stumble back a step, flinging his hands anywhere but where he wanted them. He stared down at them, shivering again at the rush of air past him, the loud noise like a flock of startled birds.

He blinked to find himself on his own, Greg across the room, and stumbled another step, his senses tilting like he’d been drinking.

Of course Greg hadn’t moved at all, and Nick was just as alone as before— _and_ in need of a good, uninterrupted night’s sleep. He shook his head to clear it and shot another glance at Greg, just to make sure. Greg had turned his back to him to look at the scene, not Nick. His hands were clenched at his sides, but he didn’t speak, and Nick heard himself, too tired to realize what it was he was saying until it was out.

“It didn’t work though, did it?” Nick thought back to the scene of the original crime. “He hadn’t stayed no matter what she had done to try to earn his trust again.” Something about his sentence was wrong, he knew that, something was still off. He could see Greg’s shoulder blades move through his black shirt as Greg flexed, shrugged. He half-turned and Nick caught a smile, something familiar even if he’d never seen it before.

“Then he’ll keep trying until she sees how right they are together,” Greg insisted, correcting him, as determined as he had ever been bent over a microscope, bent over Nick.

The false memory made Nick flinch, shut his eyes for a second at bright lights that weren’t there.

“Serious stalker potential here, man.” Nick was shaking and knew it, and Greg looked back at him, guilt and then anger flickering across his expression. He parted his lips as though he might confess to whatever was behind them and Nick shook his head, clenched his jaw. In the dreams, Greg was always speaking, apologizing.

In the dreams, Nick listened to every word, even when he didn’t understand them.

____________

 

“Open your eyes,” Greg began, his mouth on Nick’s chest, his fingertips trailing like feathers over Nick’s arms.

“We’ve played this so many times,” Greg breathed against his thigh, explaining when he didn’t have to, and Nick hands had brushed through his hair. “But we’ve never _forgotten_ like this. Not once.”

“Didn’t know it would take me so long. I’ve always known you with one look. Always, even when I met you too late…When you were…” Nick pressed his mouth beneath Greg’s ear, aching at the way Greg stopped breathing, the way Greg turned to wrap around him, sucking in air just to plead some more. “Just please, _please_ , Nicky. Know me now.”

Greg touched him, but it was his words that stayed with Nick throughout his days.

There hadn’t been any words at first. In the beginning, it had only been snatches of skin, glimpses of what Nick had seen with his own eyes in locker rooms or at lunch, muscled forearms, his collarbone, a hint of stomach. Greg had been just DNA tech Sanders then, a seriously strange, if attractive, guy. So Nick hadn’t minded, hadn’t been embarrassed. It had just been sex, just an attraction that it had been easy to ignore. He had _looked_ , sure, and Sanders had looked back, but it hadn’t meant anything.

He thought that maybe, once, it might have been more than looking. Once he had been leaning over Greg to see the results on the screen for himself and Greg had unexpectedly turned around. For one moment in the cool darkness of Greg’s old lab, they had been close, closer than they ever could have been before, even though Nick had somehow known that he could put a hand on Greg’s hip to steady himself, that Greg’s breath would hitch when he did.

He had only kept staring, unexpectedly aroused from something so simple, meeting eyes that were nearly black in the dark lab, wondering if his own eyes looked so deep, so shocked, so yearning.

“Is it you?” Greg had wondered softly, so obviously surprised that Nick might come on to him that Nick had immediately flushed with embarrassed heat and stepped away, mumbling something about getting the results later. Greg had only watched him leave, probably amused at how fast Nick had high-tailed it out of there.

Sanders hadn’t seemed inclined to chase him much in any case. Nick had been just one of many that had seemed to momentarily catch Greg’s eye back then. He had felt safe in watching, knowing others were, even Cath, even only half-seriously, because Greg’s teasing, erotic presence had been too obvious to completely push aside.

Then Greg had started watching Nick in the solitary space of his bedroom, had started speaking before approaching him, and Nick had made himself stop looking back at the real Greg, because he had known the fantasy was all he could ever possibly have, and because Greg had been busy working his way through all those willing bodies, searching for…whatever it was he had been searching for. Nick knew he hadn’t been it, couldn’t be, because he was good looking enough for Greg to notice, but no way was he ever going to be that guy. So he’d just shaken his head like everyone else and wondered just where Greg had come from.

Warrick had joked Mars, Grissom had argued for Venus with a completely straight face, and the rest of the lab had never fully decided.

In Nick’s sleep Greg didn’t come from anywhere. He simply _was_ , a whisper in Nick’s ear, the motion of warm hands, so much more than bare flesh and a hard cock, though he was also all of that.

Greg gave orders in Nick’s dreams, and begged too.

“Open your eyes, Nick, please.” But Nick knew, _knew_ with all of his senses and what was left of his sanity that if he opened his eyes he would wake up, and Greg wouldn’t be his anymore. Looking would destroy everything, it always did.

He remembered shaking with a gun in his face, still felt another’s eyes on him sometimes even when he knew better. He knew what fear was. But he couldn’t stop the sick stab of panic, the white flash of terror whenever Greg kissed him and pleaded with that sweet mouth, just to open his eyes, just to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” Sometimes Nick answered back as he ran his palms over firm muscle, hot skin. He would read Greg’s body with his hands, his lips and tongue, but not with his eyes.

__________

 

He had never once thought it would matter to him if anything happened to Greg, at least not as much as it did whenever he pictured Greg broken by the explosion, ravaged by fire. He had watched Greg in the hospital, watched him sleep long past the point of being a stalker himself, still somehow lost at the idea of Greg in pain, of Greg knocked to the ground by anything.

It turned out Greg was frail, was human after all, but he had woken from his opiate-induced sleep with love-drugged, bright eyes and found Nick immediately. His lips had quirked up, probably to make a joke or at least say something he thought was funny, and then he’d gone under again with barely a sigh, as though Greg lived for his dreams too. Nick hadn’t even minded, not if it meant Greg had been safe again for a while.

But Greg _had_ come back out and stepped out and spread his wings without even a visible trace of fear. Most would have given up with so much in their way, with just discovering how very wrong they could be out in the real world. Nick wasn’t sure exactly what kept Greg going, only knew he had been surprised to turn and find Greg standing next to him all those years ago, and that in that one moment Greg had seen it on his face, and that he hadn’t been happy to know what Nick had thought of him.

So much had changed after that bus crash in the mountains. Nick had thought it would be over for Greg at that, after seeing so much misery and blood, after freezing with panic in the face of real suffering.

Hours and hours of work at the site had left Nick beyond sore, beyond tired, and his only thought had been going to bed until he had walked into the locker room and found Greg there, slumped into the bench in front of his locker.

Greg had watched him as he’d cleaned up to go home, and Nick had seen that Greg had been warm if not-safe, not-smart, and had watched Greg watch him. Neither of them had spoken, not even with the leftover emotion and adrenaline that had left Greg obviously shaking. Nick remembered round brown eyes, a face set into a frown that that pushed at his mind until finally he’d turned, twisting on the bench to stare back, not at all surprised that Greg would be upset after a night like that.

Greg’s words were what had startled him. In all his secret memories of Greg, he could still recall them, Greg speaking as though he had just seen Nick for the first time.

“Why aren’t you a healer?” The question has been as strange as the odd, old-fashioned choice of that word. “You could save lives. Today I was _useless_ …and you…” Greg hadn’t finished, but Nick had recalled the tense moment between them, and had nodded.

He could have said it was what anybody would have done, but Greg hadn’t needed the reminder of his failure. That some people were meant to be protected from the darker side of life, that they should have their faith in others rewarded.

“Listen,” he had sighed, hesitating for a moment at the way Greg had renewed his focus on him. Even from across the room, his face had felt like it had been on fire at just one look from the other man. “Everyone has limitations, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Greg should have responded with something cocky about how he didn’t have limits, but he hadn’t. He had leaned forward instead, and then smart, pretty Greg Sanders had shivered. From any distance Nick could have felt it. The air had stirred.

“Why didn’t you?” It still wasn’t like Greg to demand in that way, not in the real world.

“What?” Nick had almost snapped back, too exhausted to question why Greg even cared about that. “Become a doctor?” He’d had Greg’s attention, and he’d straightened up to keep it, letting Greg’s eyes follow him. “My dad…I just need to see that justice works. That’s there balance. But…” He hadn’t been sure, but Greg hadn’t moved, hadn’t even tried to crack a smile. “But mostly I need to help people, but not just their bodies. People are more than that. People are minds and hearts, bodies _and_ souls.”

The echo of his own words had made him self-conscious. He knew he got too idealistic sometimes despite everything, and the sound of his voice bouncing off the metal lockers had made him feel like a fool. He’d looked away, bending down to retie the laces on boots that had already been tied just fine.

He’d gotten the impression of motion, of Greg starting and then stopping at the other side of the room, standing up even as he had said something too low for Nick to understand.

The words had sounded choked, but Nick had looked back up and found Greg sitting after all, perched tensely on the edge of the bench as though prepared to take flight. His hands had been wrapped tight on the bench, the only things keeping him still, and Nick had glanced up into his face, startled. The force of Greg’s gaze on him had been enough to push him back, steal his breath. Like an explosion.

Greg’s eyes had been deep, deep with yearning and dark with shock. And then he had smiled, everything about him shining so brightly that Nick had felt ready to do anything to make Greg look like that all the time.

He must have lifted Greg’s spirits after all, though he still wasn’t really sure what exactly he’d said to have done that.

“Nick…” Greg had started at last, just breathing out his name like he could barely speak at all. “I… I bet you’d like it if I told you how I feel so stupid right now?” He’d tried, still grinning like a lunatic and even though Nick had been smiling in return, he’d shaken his head.

“There’s no need for that, Greg. You did a good job today; most wouldn’t have done any better their first time out…”

“Not that…” Greg had tried to interrupt him.

“You going to be all right?” Nick had stood up, stretching the kinks from his back, a little confused at the way Greg had seemed to drink that in as well. His mouth had fallen open, and he had clearly forgotten what else he had been going to say. Probably just as worn out from their crazy shift as Nick had been.

Nick had let the silence go on for another second or two and then tried a nod before heading out the door, knowing that if he had let himself linger, if Greg had managed to say anything, he might have stayed there with Greg, for the rest of the night, forever.

But Greg hadn’t said anything, just stared at him, his gaze dark.

____________

 

 _“Please, you have to look at me.”_

There were nights he didn’t dream of Greg of course, nights after triples after doubles, strange nights, out after dates, in someone else’s bed. Those nights he slept well, and missed the nights of not sleeping. Strange to miss exhaustion, it was like missing the frosty silence of Greg in a pissy mood. He should have welcomed the peace of normal, boring dreams about serial killers and showing up to work naked, but instead he had just woken up annoyed and restless, wanting Greg back.

It had taken him a year to admit that he lived for the dreams. Once he had, he had stopped pushing Greg away, not in his sleep, not even at work. If he was going to lose sleep, he would rather it be with Greg than without him.

His dreams were painted in bright colors, pinks and golds and browns, his life grays and blacks and whites, except for Greg.

“Everything, G,” he had promised when Greg had finally returned to him, but he had kept his eyes shut tight. Greg was welcome to everything.

“Then why not this?” He could hear Greg’s anger, feel it in each kiss after that. Nick ached with them, sore and marked in strange places when he shouldn’t be, his subconscious taking Greg’s side and refusing to let him forget.

He had been completely shocked to find one bruise was real, and had stood there in the locker room, shirtless, trying to figure out just how he could have bruised his collarbone in his sleep, and then blushing a deep red to hear Greg’s loud laugh as Greg had come into the room behind him and seen him peering at a hickey in a mirror.

Even with his embarrassment at Greg’s remarks after that, the lick of heat all over to remember just who had sucked the bruise into his skin, he had liked hearing the sound of Greg laughing again. One small sound, and he had known that somehow, Greg was going to be all right.

In the break room, in the field, Greg’s giddiness had slowly returned. Greg had become _Greg_ again, new as a baby to all of this, though nowhere near as innocent. He had trained with Sara, and Nick had thought, as he was moved away to another shift and observed from a distance, that maybe Greg had loved Sara all along after all.

Underneath her attitude, Sara was nothing if not caring, almost too caring, and Greg would respond to that, would love someone with so much to give. He seemed to admire that quality in others before everything else but a large rack.

Greg was obviously floating on air. He was clearly happy again, and even with his gut twisted and his soul as heavy as lead, Nick still had to smile to find Greg hopping around the lab every night, starting his shift as Nick’s were ending, always arriving a few minutes early to hang out in the break room. He didn’t have to do anything but beam at Nick over his cup of coffee, and Nick would feel his steps lighten. It was ridiculous, but Nick didn’t stop himself from getting used to the sight, or from imagining that it was as though Greg knew exactly what days Nick had had to drag himself out of bed.

“I’m starting to worry about how you spend your nights, Nick,” Greg had joked a few weeks before. Or at least, Nick had assumed it had been a joke; Greg had been frowning at first. Then the frown had slid into something wicked as Greg had made Nick sputter in total surprise, by leaning on the same counter as Nick and then falling against him. His whole body, falling into Nick’s, and not even his jeans could hide that kind of heat.

“I think I’m the one that ought to be worrying about you, Don Juan,” Nick had managed and he hadn’t needed to see Greg to know the comment had pleased him.

“He always was a favorite of mine.” Greg had murmured, standing up again and regarding Nick over the edge of his mug as he’d taken another sip. Nick had watched him as he did, watched his pink mouth, and then his brown eyes. “Are you really worried about me?”

Nick had to swallow and shake his head, his throat way too dry to actually answer. Greg’s gaze had sparked in response to that, and then even after setting down his coffee, he had held Nick’s attention, his mouth slowly curving up.

No matter what else Nick had tried to tell himself afterward, no matter how reasonable he had tried to be, to not feel so hopeful about what had after all only been a moment, that had…that had definitely been flirting, and Sara hadn’t been anywhere in sight.

He’d licked his lips, uncertain, and then jumped at the buzz from his pager. Greg had just sighed to himself and taken Nick’s coffee from his hands. “You’d better go,” Greg’s voice had made him jump too, or maybe it had been the way Greg had then taken a sip from his cup, his eyes amused over the rim. “I’ll wait for you.”

_________

 

“Why is it taking so long?” Greg wondered this time, his arms curled around Nick’s torso, his breath tickling across Nick’s cheeks. “I found you this time, despite their stupid rules, despite the way they changed things, I found you.” Greg’s voice rose, sharp with anger, only to fall back down low. “Don’t you know me?”

“I’ve always known you,” Greg told him again, growing quiet when Nick squeezed his eyes closed even tighter and felt his heart beating too fast. “With one look,” Greg insisted, rising up to stare down at him. Nick could feel his gaze, could imagine the longing that Greg wouldn’t hide, never did, even outside of this.

“Nick, I’m here.” Greg was mocking him, had to be. He wasn’t really there, even asleep Nick knew it. “Just open your eyes.” But Nick shifted, turning further into Greg’s warmth, shaking his head.

“Then...” His voice had broken, his chest burning at just saying the words. He could feel Greg just like he was real, real and so close, leaning against him, watching him so carefully. That look in his eyes, it had been for Nick. If it hadn’t been… “Then you’ll be gone.”

“No.” It had been Greg’s turn to move, rising to lean over him, staring into his face. “No I won’t, I promise.” Once Greg had made his mind up, he would do it, whatever it was he had promised, he would. Leave the lab and become a CSI. Be there for Nick if Nick would just open his eyes. But Nick had trembled with the effort, his heart pounding, his hands clinging to whatever parts of Greg he could reach.

He gasped at the glimpse of radiant, pure white and then his vision cleared, the angles of his room coming into focus.

He saw the white of his pillowcase then closed his eyes again. He’d given Greg everything, and it hadn’t worked.

__________

 

He worked double shifts and stayed awake for days at a time. He actually filled and used the prescription for sleeping pills he’d gotten a few years ago and slept without any visions at all. He kept to himself in the field as much as he could and got his coffee outside the lab.

It worked. He had nearly passed out in his truck on more than one occasion and once woken up at home with no memory of driving there. Grissom gave him looks. Rick glared at him. Catherine just steered clear. But it worked.

Until his last case, a little girl. The kind of case to give Nick nightmares even when he was wide awake. The sound of his fist hitting the wall barely grew quiet and then Greg was there, hovering at just out of sight. Nick could feel him; his eyes didn’t need to be open.

“What do you want, Greg?” The question was pulled from him. In his fantasies of course, he would have known the answer, would have been on his back and naked in moments, would have fucked Greg until Greg could no longer say his name in that hitching, strange voice that always made it something else.

“This.” Greg popped a square card of paper into his scraped hand, and even though the date was wrong, Nick had the random, fleeting thought that it was a valentine. “It’s not engraved, but I thought hand-written would do when you’ve ignored all other offers.”

To think he had worked so hard to put that sarcasm back in Greg’s voice.

Nick dared one sideways glance, but Greg was looking at the card in Nick’s hand. So he flipped it over, studied it like it wasn’t just white paper and black ink.

“You feel so much for them,” Greg said softly, never as condemning as Grissom was when he said things like that. Nick looked back up, about to tell Greg what to do with his damn party invitation when things so horrible were happening around them, that he didn’t want to go anywhere but to bed after work.

Greg touched his shoulder and Nick shut his mouth at the pain that shot through him, the familiar bolt of heat, the surprise of Greg scolding him. He felt Greg’s need before he saw it bright in his gaze. “Let me help you.” He could not close his eyes to that, not with Greg waiting. “Please,” Greg begged, shocking, pleading rough and low. “I miss you.”

____________

 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” In his dreams, Greg was never pissed off. Nick was used to the edge of need in his voice, the press of impatience that sometimes made each touch rough, the hurt in the way Greg would sigh into his skin, but Greg was never angry.

But Nick’s eyes were too heavy to open, even if he had wanted to. He’d have to soon enough anyway. He had to drive home, drive home and then pass out on the first soft surface he could find.

In his dreams, Greg wasted no time twining their bodies together, let his first words trail into heavy moans when Nick moved his mouth down to suck him, turned Nick’s answers into short gasps with each thrust. He didn’t yell, his voice high and cracked, echoed by the slam of a car door.

“Nick…” Greg was breathing hard, and Nick tried to turn, but his body was too weighted, the seat too comfortable. He pushed out a breath and listened to Greg swallow.

“Do you hate it so much?” Greg wondered at last, and no matter how tired Nick was, he had to twist at that lonely question, moving his head to the side and lifting one hand. His fingers brushed over clothing before they reached Greg’s face and found the burn of stubble before touching Greg’s lips. In the dreams, Greg didn’t wear clothes, didn’t need to shave. But awake there was no way he would have let Nick touch him like that.

He shook his head and Greg’s sigh was warm on his fingers. God, he’d missed that. And he was so tired.

He had glimpsed Greg earlier, slouching in his familiar dark blue jacket, complaining about long shifts while his eyes had followed Nick down the hall. Nick had waved a handful of reports as an excuse not to stop, not wanting to slow.

“I’m so tired, G,” he admitted out loud, not even caring when Greg jerked into motion and forced Nick to move too, or the way Greg snorted as he did it.

“Well that’s damn obvious.” Greg’s remark was bitter. But he went silent for a moment when Nick immediately fell back against him. Nick was pretty sure that he was supposed to be doing something then, something to make Greg stay, but when he dropped a hand to his lap, Greg made another bitter sound and pulled his hand away.

There were other noises too, but Nick ignored them and frowned against Greg’s shoulder. It was a little on the bony side. He’d never noticed that before. But it was warm too, and soft enough if he shifted his cheek. He felt himself drifting and almost opened his eyes in a moment of panic, not wanting to lose this so quickly.

He dropped his hand again, then let it rest on Greg’s thigh, not sure his dream was laughing or crying.

“You don’t want me?” Too difficult not to sound hurt, or to keep from scowling when the world around them stilled. The noises stopped, and then Greg was turning, wrapping his arms around Nick just like he always did.

“And they say _I_ have the sick sense of humor…” Greg muttered into his neck, holding Nick tight without even _trying_ to get him naked. “You need some sleep more than you need that, Stokes.”

“I don’t understand you sometimes.” Nick complained too, letting Greg lay him down and fold him into something soft. It smelled like Greg.

“Yeah well, I’ve never had to discover you like this either,” Greg whined and laughed at the same time and Nick wrinkled his nose at the tickle of Greg’s hair. He really was tired. He felt like he’d running at a full gallop for years, felt like he hadn’t slept in months. This was a new dream but the dreams had changed before. He liked it, even if Greg wasn’t making any sense. “To be human is to be uncertain, they tell me.”

Greg’s hand stroked down his back. His clothes pressed awkwardly into Nick’s cheek, but Nick didn’t move, just let out a long, slow breath. “That’s what it was for you, and I never understood. Maybe that’s why.”

In the real world, Nick would have told Greg to shut up. But he closed his eyes tighter and kept listening to whatever craziness was coming out of Greg’s mouth.

“A hundred times, and each time I’ve always lost you.”

Nick knew he ought to ask about this time, or at least what the hell Greg is talking about, what kind of dream this was, but even with his bony shoulders Greg felt good, and Greg wasn’t telling him to look at anything.

“Nicky.” Greg changed his name again and Nick couldn’t mind. “This time it’s up to you.”

He turned his head into warm down and moved his hand to Greg’s chest. Each word hummed under his touch, echoing as though Greg’s chest was empty too. He had to swallow the ache at that, breathe harder until it was bearable.

Because he was going to open his eyes in the morning and find himself on his couch, alone.

_________

 

It was like taking a shot to the chest. Even when he had a vest on, it just sucked all the air right out of him, left him stunned and weak.

He knew his face went red, that he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. He let the other guests behind him push him inside Greg’s apartment, knew that the witches around him drifted off and that then he was standing face to face with Greg, and Greg was wearing that…those.

“Are you some kind of angel?” Nick heard himself, wanting to bite his tongue at how cheesy he sounded. His eyes traveled up and down, over the small length of rich fabric keeping Greg decent, the extent of bare skin, Greg’s chest and legs and arms. Muscled arms, toned, golden. His hair seemed golden too, gleaming as brightly as the cuffs on his wrists, the arrows shining at his back, next to the set of fake, white wings. The harness keeping them in place wrapped around Greg’s shoulders, and Nick studied those too, before his gaze fell back to the feathered wings.

“Getting warmer.” Greg didn’t smile, even if his words were light. He ran unsteady hands over his short…skirt…and then ran them through his hair. His eyes stayed on Nick, not remotely distracted by the loud music or people pressing around them. “You look good,” Greg whispered, bringing more heat to Nick’s face.

“I think he’s supposed to be Cupid,” Sara’s voice intruded as she came up next to him. She was wearing a lab coat and had painted her skin with neon green glitter. Her name tag said, “Curie”. “Pretty lame costume, Nick.”

“Eros actually,” Grissom corrected her just as Greg opened his mouth. Grissom was dressed as Grissom…with Groucho Marx glasses on. “The original Greek version. The god of physical love.”

“That was a baby.” Nick dragged his eyes from Greg, who still hadn’t managed a word to Grissom. Grissom just cocked an eyebrow.

“No, in most stories he was an adult male with a…perverse...sense of humor. He carried two sets of arrows, gold and lead, one for love and one for hate. Though I recall one in which he also carried silver for indifference, the true enemy of love.” Grissom’s voice got quieter, despite all the noise. He didn’t smile, but Nick got the feeling he was still watching bugs squirm. Greg glared, then glanced uncertainly to Nick. “But his tricks were turned back on him.”

“Yes, he fell in love with a mortal, and visited her while invisible to know if she truly loved him for him and not just because he was immortal. Very insecure, for a god,” Sara interjected and made a sound when Greg elbowed her. Grissom just shared a look with Sara that made her crack a foolish smile. It was…weird…seeing it on Sara’s face. Nick looked to Greg but Greg barely seemed to notice Sara at all.

“This is silly.” Greg tried. “Nick are you supposed to be…?”

“What happened?” Nick ignored him and turned back to Grissom.

“The girl—Psyche—betrayed him by sneaking a look at his sleeping form, and heart-broken, he cast her out. Then she went on a quest to win back his love. It’s all supposed to be an allegory. The joining of physical love with the mind—Psyche translates to mind, or soul. So the body and the soul come together in love.” Grissom knitted his hands together and Sara wrinkled her nose.

Nick turned slowly and found Greg staring at him, glowing with a blush, shifting almost nervously, his hands coming up once when Nick finally blinked.

“Very lovely.” Sara sounded doubtful. “I seem to remember a less happy ending.”

“Where she doesn’t become immortal and dies and is reborn, and Eros has to keep searching for her.” Grissom shrugged. Nick hardly noticed. “And in the process has to win her love over and over again. Some might say it’s the ideal of eternal love.”

“You might, if you didn’t think of poor Psyche,” Sara grumbled. “Why not just use the arrows? He’s Cupid right? He has his little magic arrows.”

“But the point of the story is that love is more than just desire, right?” Nick flicked a look from Greg to Grissom, and then back to Greg. Greg’s throat moved.

“I guess Cupid had to figure that out. Slow for a god too.” Sara rolled her eyes and then glared at a vampire pushing past her. Greg blinked and Nick tried to focus on her, what she was asking. “You want a drink, Nick?”

“I’ll get him one.” Greg’s eyes promised a lot more than that just as the doorbell rang. Greg twitched and jumped about a foot in the air. Nick flinched at the sudden motion and completely missed whatever Sara had to say about Greg’ nerves.

“I’ll…uh…get it myself, G.” Nick blinked, but couldn’t shake the clouds in his mind, high and white, as soft as feathers in his hands.

“Nick, wait!” Greg called after him. Nick kept moving forward, his senses tilting.

_________

 

Nick had known the touch of feathers, had felt them before at the backs of his hands, joined to the slick skin of Greg’s back. It had only been for a moment, but he had felt them, had loved them.

In his dreams, he hadn’t questioned them.

“Open your eyes, Nick.” Greg had asked of him, floating above him, arms strong as he’d slid inside of him, and Nick had reached up, stroking along Greg’s back, burying his fingers in soft down.

“Nicky…”

___________

 

“Nick!” Greg’s voice rose in alarm and then dropped off when Nick turned to watch him enter the room. “You’re still here.” Greg paused, then shut the door behind him. His bedroom door, Nick realized, because that was where Nick had ended up. He looked away, pretending to take an interest in the coats and purses on the large bed.

He was tired, not drunk, and this was just crazy. Listening to Grissom outside of work wasn’t always a good idea.

“So you’re supposed to be Cu…uh…Eros, huh?” he wondered, gesturing at Greg’s Halloween costume. “He wore a skirt?”

Greg’s head came up. “It’s called a _chiton_ , it’s not a skirt, and anyway, who are you supposed to be, aside from Nick Stokes in a suit with his glasses on?” He fired back, making Nick smile no matter how tired and crazy he felt. Nick shook his head for a moment, then pulled open his shirt with a sigh.

The red and blue shirt underneath was obvious, even if anyone had missed the giant “S” stretched across his chest. He still managed to feel ridiculous at Greg’s small delighted laugh.

“I should have guessed.” He just knew Greg was smirking. “No one is that mild-mannered.” It was Greg’s turn to sigh, bring Nick’s eyes back to him. “Years of flirting gone unnoticed, my ass. _I’m_ supposed to be the blind one, you know.”

Nick sucked in a breath and stood motionless as Greg stepped further into the room, waving his hands around in a gesture that wasn’t exactly happy. But when his smile didn’t go anywhere, Nick swallowed and tried again.

He wasn’t going to pay any attention to any of the weird stuff that Grissom had said, or his dreams. He was going to pay attention to Greg, the real Greg, even if Greg was being as weird as ever. If he were being honest, he’d always liked Greg’s weirdness.

“Oh yeah, I have all kinds of secret lives you don’t even know about.” It might have worked as a boast if Greg hadn’t turned unexpectedly and met his gaze. In the cool darkness of his bedroom, they were suddenly very close.

Greg didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he took another step forward, moving slowly until Nick could have touched him. He wanted to. Had wanted to for years now. He wouldn’t be surprised to know that Greg knew that. He didn’t think he’d hidden it very well.

His face and neck heated at just the idea, his stomach fluttering like he might be sick. He looked down, then back up just as Greg’s gaze dropped to his Superman t-shirt.

“That’s…that’s a very nice costume,” Greg remarked, putting out a hand as he’d slid closer and Nick had stumbled forward in sudden panic. He put a hand out too, placed it just where it belonged at the small of Greg’s back, on his hip, and then snatched it away in confusion at the hitch in Greg’s breathing.

He couldn’t move back, or do anything but frown. He snuck a glance up, saw Greg’s throat move as he swallowed, as though Greg were uncertain too, then ducked his head.

“Yours isn’t bad either, even if it does require a dress.” Nick’s mouth curved up at Greg’s automatic, insulted gasp. He didn’t really mind the dress…skirt…though it meant that everyone else at the party was also getting to see so much of Greg’s skin. “These are a nice touch.” Nick dragged his fingertips over the tops of the stiff, fake, cold wings and then hurriedly plucked an arrow free of the quiver when Greg turned to try to see what he was doing.

The arrow was surprisingly heavy, and sharp. Nick touched it against his palm and then winced when it instantly pierced his skin.

“Ow!” He bit out. “Real arrows, Greg?” he demanded a second later, then fell back at the blur of motion, the whirr of wings and the rush of air, Greg taking the arrow from his hand, Greg’s other hand slapping over his eyes.

“Nick, close your eyes!” Greg whispered frantically, then hesitating when hearing those words from Greg made Nick let out a dark laugh.

“This isn’t funny, Greg,” he managed to get out, his mouth dry when Greg’s hand didn’t move. Greg’s voice was anxious.

“Which one was it?” Greg asked quickly, and Nick shuddered to feel Greg’s heat again, to not see him even when he was so close. The air stirred again as Greg came closer to peer at him. Nick could feel him looking, just like always, and he shuddered. “Damn it, Nick, I was trying to do this right this time, no cheating.”

Nick had the feeling that what Greg was saying was important, but he couldn’t seem to focus on much of anything but Greg’s hand, Greg’s breath.

“Do what right?” he asked at last, and scowled at Greg’s sudden silence and retreat.

“Just…keep your eyes shut, Nick. Please,” Greg urged him, his hand trembling as it slid away. “Let me just try to figure this out. Do you feel dizzy? Hot?” He knew that voice. Greg was panicked as he hadn’t been in years, on the edge of some colossal mistake even if Nick didn’t know what it was.

He frowned, shaking his head once because he always felt dizzy and hot around Greg, Greg ought to know that by now. And whatever the mistake was, he could help him fix it.

He opened his eyes, shooting a dark look around the room, and then dragging a look over Greg to make sure he was all right. Greg was glaring down at the prop arrow in his hand, but he looked fine.

Better than fine. Shiny and warm, as crazy as ever in that get up, but strong, safe. He looked like Greg.

Greg was still in front of him. But he wasn’t dreaming, so of course Greg would still be here. He wasn’t dreaming, Nick reminded himself. This was real.

Nick let out a long breath at the revelation and Greg looked back up, his eyes going wide with alarm. Nick had to smile. He didn’t really get why Greg was freaking out, but he’d known from the start Greg wasn’t like other people.

“Nicky?” Greg asked carefully, so much hope in his voice that Nick blinked. If he hadn’t already been a mess, it might have bothered him that he tripped as he moved toward Greg. But he put out a hand, and it went on its own to Greg’s hip and stayed there. That didn’t seem to bother Greg either.

“Yes, G?” Nick answered in a whisper, staring into Greg’s face, into Greg’s face as it filled with color. He leaned in, and Greg’s eyes went even wider. Greg tossed his head once, like he was going to protest again, demand Nick shut his eyes, but then a hand came up, pressed against his chest. Nick spoke, voice rough with the perfumed scent of Greg tickling at the back of his throat. “I’m not dreaming,” he said out loud. Greg could just think he was crazy too.

“Yeah…” Greg ducked his head, a confession in his eyes when he glanced up. “About that…” Greg started, then used his tongue to wet his lips, definitely nervous.

In the dreams, Nick wouldn’t question that. With Greg actually in his arms, he wasn’t going to question it either. He moved, and Greg kissed him, sweet and burning. He heard noise, maybe music from outside, felt strength wrapping around him, didn’t need to see it. His body felt hot, the space around them sunshine-bright.

He shut his eyes again, opened them once and sighed against Greg’s lips to know Greg was still there. He curled his fingers, found skin, slick and warm and familiar, golden and toned. He moved his head away enough to stare down at Greg again, then came back to Greg’s mouth, not really sure what the feeling bursting out of him was. He had a feeling it was bliss.

“I like your wings.” He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, then couldn’t seem to care. Greg just smiled back at him anyway.

“You should see my real ones,” he smirked, and Nick felt a small frown form before he could help himself.

“What?” he wondered, only to get distracted with the press of Greg’s mouth to his throat.

“Nothing… Later…” Greg murmured, then laughed at himself, just as short and dark as Nick had before. Nick lifted his head to stare at him and Greg’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Please, Greg.” Greg’s mouth was close, his breath warm. Nick was the one floating, white in front of him. “Please, Greg, open your eyes.” He let his hands drift upward until feathers touched them, and pulled back when Greg pushed out a breath and stared at him, love-drugged and bright. Greg was _glowing_ , light and warm, and somewhere, Nick heard the clang of the arrow falling to the floor right before he kissed Greg back.

 

 

**Bliss**

(a sort of smutty snippet for beelikej, who sort of requested it without knowing what she was requesting)

 

Stretched out beneath Greg in their bedroom, with Greg driving into him and desire arcing bright and quick between them, Nick liked to whisper Greg’s name—his real name. It pierced through him, blade sharp, and made the man above him shake, made his kisses hotter.

So hot it should have burned right through him and left him hollow, but Nick felt filled, more than just impaled on Greg’s cock though he stretched to take that too, hard and smooth and close to perfect.

He angled up to follow the sensation, his back aching, his skin on fire. He could only feel Greg for the moment, but he kept his eyes open, smiling when each flex of muscle made Greg moan.

“Nick.” Greg was panting, whining, one hand pushing Nick back, urging him to keep it up, to keep still, to just come already. Strange to be smiling, when every rough thrust left his vision momentarily white, when he could taste the salt of his sweat in the hot air against his face.

Greg’s hand was sticky, wet as well, and Nick imagined him, toned and gleaming with perspiration, his eyes dark as he tried to focus.

It was easy to believe he was a god in those moments, he was so beautiful.

Nick moved back again, grunting when Greg pushed into him, balls deep, so good it hurt to breathe. Strange that he still needed to smile, to find enough breath to say it again, Greg’s name.

Greg’s hands slid off him, hit the bed before he got a tighter hold. His words came fast and furious against Nick’s ear, trailing off into pleased, choked noises.

“Nick.” Greg was begging even as he rocked forward and Nick had to grab onto the bedding.

Clean, white sheets, already stained and wet. Dirty, not that this could ever be called that. This was love, pure and simple.

He opened his mouth, gasping in air, arching up for another wave of heat, only sliding against the slick, warm bedding when Greg gave it to him, once and then again, until they were both trembling, exhausted, needing more.

The limitations of a human body, Greg had remarked once, almost scornfully, as though prolonged anticipation didn’t make it so much better, as though he didn’t love to love Nick with his mouth and mind and body at every opportunity.

Nick pushed down at the thought, his cock trapped against the mattress and twisted white sheets, his whole body tense and tight.

Greg fucked him, running hands across his back, letting them linger near his ass, at his hips, at the ache Greg knew he was creating.

God or not, he was breathing hard, the sound enough to make Nick curl his fingers and toes, to push back in time with him.

“Please, Nicky.” Greg pleaded, as though he wasn’t the one on top here.

Nick managed a short laugh even with a thousand pools of heat building at his back, rising up his spine.

“You know what I want,” he bit out, his throat dry, and moaned with Greg when Greg slid down to cover Nick’s body with own. It burned between them, and Nick clenched his jaw at the desire to move, opening his mouth again and dragging his lips over the sheets when he thought he might come.

For a small fraction of time—too long—Greg held the position, and Nick felt the thick length deep in him, and pictured Greg, shaking and exhausted, his expression hungry.

Then he heard it, the swirl of moving air, the snap of unfurling wings.

Greg pressed a single, long kiss to his shoulder and then rose to stretch. Nick could feel it, the shivering contraction of muscles, and held his breath. He almost turned, would have if not for his position.

He shut his eyes instead, recalled the sight. Greg pulled in a breath and Nick twisted, digging into the mattress to keep still and not look this time. With another snap, Greg flung out his wings, extended them, each one long and feathered, pearl-white and soft, each one as sweet-smelling as perfume.

He would stretch his arms too, and Nick imagined the radiant, strong form, gold skin and white wings, the black blindfold around his eyes.

With Greg blind, Nick opened his eyes, his mouth.

“Please, Greg.” His turn to beg, but Greg didn’t laugh as he had. He bent down, put his mouth to the back of Nick’s neck. He left open-mouthed kisses there, sweet and yearning.

“Just for you,” Greg murmured, not-quite-lightly, before putting his hands back on the bed. Nick choked back a sound, pushing back when Greg’s mouth slid wetly across to his shoulders. He inhaled, salt and perfume, and bowed his head when Greg pressed into him again.

On either side of him, Nick felt the gentle brush of feathers and turned his head to watch Greg’s wings curl around him.

He shuddered once and then rolled his hips against Greg. It only took a few moments of pressure inside him, along his skin, and then he was coming into their sheets, gasping for breath as Greg continued to thrust for another moment and then cried out against his skin.

“Finally,” Greg panted in exasperation a moment later, but Nick could hear his smile. “You’re very demanding for a mortal.”

Nick just grinned into the mattress and caught his breath.

“Just for you,” he said, and felt it.


End file.
